Thor Lives
by staringatstars07
Summary: Loki has a choice to make. (contains spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War)


**A/N: Hi! I know this seems like an Avengers (2012) fic, but rest assured there are spoilers for Infinity War, even if the characters themselves tend to dance around it a bit. If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend that you do before reading this. Also, some elements have been borrowed from the comics.**

 **Well, that's all from me. Enjoy!**

* * *

The view from Stark's tower really was magnificent. From where he stood, the God of Mischief could see his defeat play out as though it were a piece of high cinema. All at once the Chitauri fell, and with them, any hopes Loki might have had for victory. Soon, the Avengers – as that hodge-podge of misfits gathered around his brother were calling themselves – would return to finish what their green beast had started.

Shooting a rueful smirk at the crater his body had left in the linoleum as one of his hands absently gripped his arm, he forced his protesting and bruised legs to step towards the bar. It was inevitable that he was going to be captured, but perhaps he did not have to be sober for it.

"Do you hate Thor?" He stopped, frozen.

The voice was soft, young, and oddly familiar, though it held within it none of the betrayal nor accusation that Loki had become accustomed to since his tumble through the Void. Rather it was… curious. However, Loki had learned to treat all but himself as a threat, and he spun towards the sound, a snarl on his lips and magic on his tongue-

\- to see a boy.

His clothes were strange for Earth. Too golden. Too ornate. And his raven black hair, cut close to the scalp, was partially hidden by a horned circlet. Oddly, Loki's mind chose that moment to remind him of an incident in his youth where Thor had chosen to play a trick on him by soaking his pillow in Elder tree sap, only for the sap to prove resistant to any and all attempts of removal. He'd cried when Frigga had patiently shorn his locks, though she'd assured him that when they returned, they would be even more beautiful and stronger than before.

The child smiled, as though reading his thoughts. "I ask again. Do you hate Thor?"

"Of course I do!" snapped Loki, thought his feet remained rooted to the ground. He had always trusted his instincts, and now they warned him that the child before him now was no child at all.

The instant the venomous riposte left his lips, however, a caw echoed through the room, and a magpie flew through the glass, it's ebony-tipped wings outstretched and gleaming as it swept around the scene. " **Liar! Liar** ," it dived, forcing Loki to duck beside the bar counter. " **Liar!** "

Taking his eyes off the boy, Loki cursed under his breath. "What is wrong with this blasted bird?" Though it looked hale, it sounded sickly, it's chanting carrying with it a strained, rasping quality, suggesting its throat had been injured somehow. The absence of down and plumage around its neck appeared to support that theory, though Loki could scarcely blame someone for trying to strangle the addled magpie.

A muffled cry caught his attention, and he jerked his head away from the circling bird to see a wizened old man lifting the child by his neck. The child struggled as the man in green and gold robes tightened his hold, kicking futilely in an attempt to free himself as scarlet bled into the whites of his frightened eyes and a bluish hue spread from his veins.

A sense of morbid fascination and dread keeping him still, Loki watched the scene play out like a scene upon the stage. He could almost hear Thor call his name.

Staring up at his would-be murderer, the child rasped, "Stop this, Laufeyson. It's unsightly." Regal and demanding despite the effort it cost him, and with a wry smirk, "What would Mother say?"

And the old man's lips curled to reveal a toothless maw, "Why should I die for Thor?" Knarled fingers with yellowing nails dug into the child's flesh as he spat, "He has caused me naught but humiliation and misery."

The boy's dialted pupils slid to the side, finding Loki. "He… loves… us."

Gripping the marble counter until the stone cracked, Loki vehemently shook his head, insisting, "He let me go"

Thor was strong. If he'd really wanted to save him at the Bifrost, he could have.

But when the old man turned on him, Loki felt fear. "You cannot lie to us, Wordsmith."

The magpie echoed, " **Lies! Lies!** "

"You let go."

" **Let go! Let go!** "

At the second repetition, the child abruptly struggling, hanging limply from the old man's wrinkled hand. His eyes, glassy and red with blood, saw nothing. His veins were blue. Loki allowed himself to wonder if the child was truly dead before their eyes widened, irises blazing a fiery green.

Loki felt the heat in his soul. Standing, he demanded of the trio, "What is the meaning of this?"

"The God of Mischief cannot die," replied the child, and the old man lowered him gently to the ground at the same time the magpie swooped down to land on his stooped shoulders.

Shaking his head in denial, Loki stepped away from them, only to find there was nowhere to go. He'd already reached the end. "This is no life."

"Thor lives," replied the child, the old man, the magpie.

"Our brother."

"Our king," the old man added, bowing his head.

"We cannot abandon him to Thanos."

"No more running."

"We fight."

"We die."

"Thor lives."

Drawing himself up this full height, Loki answered harshly, "You're all insane." The child looked wary, the old man disappointed. The magpie's black eyes glittered. Loki huffed a mirthless laugh. "And very fortunate that I am inclined to favor madness."

He knew now who the child was, the old man, the magpie. He knew their purpose. And he was afraid.

But there are times when even the monsters hiding in the dark can be brave.

Striding forward, he took the child's hand, watched as a relieved smile blossomed on their face like a springtime bud, and what was three became one.

Loki opened his eyes in the ruins of an Asgardian ship. In his periphery, he can see the intimidating silhouette of Thanos – _and who controls the would-be king?_ – looming over fallen brother. He has Thor's head held in his grasp, and what does Loki have? A small knife and one last bargaining chip.

Swallowing down his fear and quieting the trembling in his hands, Loki resolved to do what he must as he stepped out of the shadows, putting himself into full view of the Mad Titan with, not a plan, but a desire, a wish, a goal.

Thor lives.


End file.
